


His Veins

by bmnugent



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Abby sucked at drawing blood when she was a new doctor, F/M, First Meetings, Fluff, Married Couple, ON JAKE, Romance, She needed practice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-08-07 08:14:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7707580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bmnugent/pseuds/bmnugent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She had fallen in love with him the second she saw his veins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Veins

**Author's Note:**

> I love Abby and Jake just as much as I love Abby and Marcus, so I wrote something cute for them. It's already posted on Tumblr, but I was gone from my laptop this weekend.

Being the newest doctor in medical had consequently gotten her put in the blood bank, working at a furious pace to extract blood from the healthy residents of the Ark. And with being the newest doctor came the practice she desperately needed.

She dreads the task every time someone of smaller stature comes in to donate their blood, because she knows she can’t find a suitable vein as easy. And every time she sticks the hollowed bore needle into the crook of their elbow, she winces and apologizes profusely as she painfully digs the needle until dark, crimson blood spews down the tube.

Today had been one of those days; missing vein after vein, growing frustrated with her less than adequate skill, and working overtime internally to hide her impatience from the donors.

As she finishes with one donor, she disinfects her working station while waiting for the next person to enter. She’s too occupied with tagging the freshly donated blood, ensuring she has enough supplies for the next donor, that she doesn’t pay much attention to who sits on her gurney, arms out and ready for her to poke and prod. 

When she turns to face her next victim after disinfecting her hands for the umpteenth time that shift, she stops immediately. Her eyes fall on the man’s arms, his vessels nearly popping out from his skin. 

“Oh my God,” she says breathlessly, letting her fingers come out to rub at his arm. She swears she can feel his pulse quicken beneath her touch. “You have some of the best veins on this Ark,” she says, eyes still glued to his wide forearm. Suddenly, she realizes what she’s done and drags her eyes up. Embarrassed by her excitement, her cheeks grow a light shade of pink when she takes in the handsome man sitting in front of her. He’s a familiar man, having seen him on the Ark in random places. He’s a few years older than her, though, she knows because she doesn’t remember him being in any of her classes.

Even from his seated position, she could tell he would tower over her once he stood. His shoulders were broad and his chest was wide. He could probably swallow her whole with just one hug.  


 She figures she would be more worried if the man had a horrified look on his face, but all he’s doing is smiling down at her, his blue eyes mapping out every feature of her. She lets her hand fall away from him.

“You are… adorable,” he says finally, shaking his head and laughing to himself at how excited she had gotten over something as simple as veins.

She’s stunned by his words, the color filling her cheeks even faster than before. She ducks her head, eyes shyly leaving his as she gathers the tourniquet and alcohol swabs. Silently, she begins her work, reaching out to grab him once more, her fingers barely able to wrap around the front of his arm. 

She ties the piece of elastic around his arm, palpates for the vein she wants to stick, and tears open an alcohol swab to cleanse the site.

Through the corner of her eye, she notices how he tenses up when her gloves are on and the needle is in sight. She swallows hard, praying that she gets it on the first try this time, and lets out a steady breath.

“Afraid of needles,” she asks, to which he nods in response. “Talk to me. It’ll distract you,” she offers, uncapping the needle and lowering it to the appropriate angle to pierce his skin.

“You have the most beautiful smile,” he says, effectively stopping her from breaking his skin. Her head falls in amusement, and her twinkling eyes leave his arm to look up at him once more. He is, by far, the bravest and yet the most panicked all at the same time.

“When I said to talk to me, I didn’t mean for you to flirt with me. We want you distracted, not me,” she says, her white teeth peeking out from her pink, glossed lips as she smiles. 

“I am distracted,” he says softly, barely loud enough for her to hear, as he reaches up with his free hand to gently push back the pieces of hair that have fallen out from her braid and into her face. She fights the shiver that threatens to course down her spine when the back of his fingers brush against her cheek. 

“You think it’s a good idea to hit on the doctor who’s got a needle lined up against your arm?”

“If it’ll get me a date, I suppose.” 

And with her eyes locked with his, she pokes the needle into his skin and is instantly rewarded with venous access, his blood pouring into a plastic donor bag fluently. He had jumped at the slight pinch the needle inflicted upon him, a small ‘Ouch’ escaping his lips.

He chuckles at her and his eyes fall to where the needle is reinforced against his arm.

“Wow. First try.” She unsnaps the tourniquet from around his arm, her lips curling into a smirk. “You’re good.” She doesn’t say anything, just pushes herself away from him on her rolling office chair, striping her gloves off. And roughly ten minutes later, when the bag is filled with his blood, she gently removes the needle, applies pressure with sterile gauze, and tapes it firmly to his skin. “What’s your name, doctor?”

“Abby,” she says as she thumbs over a tablet, typing in her physician notes and letting her eyes scan over his personal information; name, age, height, weight, occupation, martial status.

“A pretty name for a pretty girl.” She lets the tablet fall to her small metal cart with the rest of her supplies, and turns to face him. She’s standing awfully close, almost between his parted thighs, and her hands are now on her hips.

“Cut the crap, Jacob.” He can’t help the gorgeous smile that spreads across his face upon hearing his full name in her voice. “What do you want?”

—

Years later, when their baby girl crawls into bed with them at night complaining that she can’t fall asleep, she watches lovingly as the same arms pull their daughter between them.

Clarke asks for a bedtime story, but more specifically, of how her parents had met and fell in love. It’s a story the kid has heard dozens of times, and there’s a reassuring feeling knowing that her daughter is obsessed with their love story.

Jake starts the story, the same way, every single time.

“One day, I saw your mother in the dining hall. I had to ask your Uncle Marcus who she was.” Clarke’s adorable, toothy grin would always appear at the mention of her father’s friend. “He told me that she was a doctor.”


End file.
